


Rock'n'roll Suicide

by Proskenion



Series: Sail Away Sweet Sister [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Belting, Brother-Sister Relationships, Child Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Domestic Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Bonding, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV First Person, Physical Abuse, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 03, References to David Bowie, Songfic, Underage Smoking, belt, belt whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25221733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proskenion/pseuds/Proskenion
Summary: After a particularly harsh thrashing from Neil, Billy just stops talking. While driving home with him and listening to the radio, Max tries one last time to reach out.Written from Max's POV.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield
Series: Sail Away Sweet Sister [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803955
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Rock'n'roll Suicide

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my lovely birds! 
> 
> Here my second Billy&Max bonding one-shot. I had it in mind for a while. Rock'n'roll Suicide is one of my favourite Bowie's song and one of my favourite song ever, and I thought it fitted quite well for them. 
> 
> I hope you'll like it :) 
> 
> (Also I know it feels like I only listen to the three same songs all the time, it's not that, it's just that love those songs way too much lol)

Last weekend was awful. 

I am now in Billy's car. We're coming back from school. Billy doesn't speak. He hasn't uttered a word in more than 24 hours. A talking Billy can be a real nuisance, a terrifying one at times, but a non-talking Billy is worse. Who knows what's happening inside his head?

Last Friday, Billy was out to some party. Except when we all woke up the next morning, he wasn't home. It happened sometimes that Billy didn't sleep at home, so nobody was really concerned. He usually came back in the morning. This time he didn't. 

I glance at him, once, twice. But it's just like I'm not there. Or like _he_ is not there. He keeps his eyes on the road, hands clenched on the wheel. I'm not even sure he blinks, his eyes are red and wide. It's scary. 

Billy didn't came back on Saturday. The atmosphere at home went from its usual uneasiness to complete insufferable tension. I wanted to leave the house, escape for a while and go skateboarding, but Neil didn't allow me to leave. Everyone would stay here until Billy comes home, he said. It infuriated me. How could Billy be such a pain even when he wasn't here? 

Again, I glance at him. I watch him more closely this time, hoping to provoke a reaction. Nothing happens. I bit my lips and looks away, leaning my head against the window. 

Billy came back on Sunday before lunch. Until then I had felt like living inside a house riddled with dynamite and wondering when it would all explode. Billy was the one with the detonator. When he came back, everything blew up. 

I jump slightly when I see Billy moving from the corner of my eyes. He changes down a gear, makes a left, still not talking, still not looking at me. I feel like I might start to cry and I hate it. I ask if I can turn the radio on. 

Neil has always been terrifying. Not the way Billy is - Billy is a volcano you never know when it will start erupting. Neil isn't that sort of scary. Neil is scary like a storm you know is coming and you can't escape. Billy came home yesterday knowing he was throwing himself into a maelstrom. 

Billy ignores me, ignores my request. It annoys me. I don't understand why he is punishing _me_ like this. Why he is always punishing me. So I take a move to turn the radio on, expecting the hand he left on the shifter to viciously catch mine. It doesn't happen. Little Richard starts singing in the speakers. 

I knew it was going to be bad when Billy wasn't back on Saturday night and Neil refused to call the cops. But when I saw the way Neil and Billy glared at each other on Sunday, I realised it was going to be even worse than I thought. Mum must have felt it too, because she grabbed me by my arm and took me out of the room. The shouting started almost immediately. 

Billy opens his window and lights a cigarettes on. 

From my bedroom I could hear the screams, the burning insults, the muffled sounds of slaps and punches and kicks. The dreaded sound of the belt through the air and against Billy's flesh. I understood how bad it was when Billy's moans came to my ears. He usually barely made a sound, none that I could hear from my room anyway. 

As Billy's cigarette is spitting its ashes on his jeans, Little Richard stops singing and _Rock'n'roll Suicide_ by Bowie starts playing. 

_Time takes a cigarette, puts it in your mouth_  
_You pull on your finger, then another finger, then your cigarette_  
_The wall-to-wall is calling, it lingers, then you forget_  
_Oh, you're a rock 'n' roll suicide_

I turn my gaze to Billy. He's got his cigarette stuck between his lips, one hand on the wheel and the other on the shifter, looking stubbornly straight in front of him with his red eyes surrounded by heavy eyelids. 

_You're too old to lose it, too young to choose it_  
_And the clock waits so patiently on your song_  
_You walk past a cafe but you don't eat when you've lived too long_  
_Oh, no, no, no, you're a rock 'n' roll suicide_

He looks even more tired and reckless than usual and I start wondering how long it's been since he last had a real sleep. He spits his consumed cigarette through the open window and lights on another one. Now that he started smoking he won't stop, as if trying to smoke is life away. 

_Chev brakes are snarling as you stumble across the road_  
_But the day breaks instead so you hurry home_  
_Don't let the sun blast your shadow_  
_Don't let the milk float ride your mind_  
_You're so natural - religiously unkind_

He's not driving as fast as usual, I realise. He doesn't want to go home. I sigh. I wish he would look at me. The silence is killing me. I close my eyes. 

_Oh no love! You're not alone_  
_You're watching yourself but you're too unfair_  
_You got your head all tangled up but if I could only make you care_

I suddenly feel like the song is hanging heavily between us. He has not been the same with me since that incredibly weird night. Since I threatened him with a bat full of nails. He still glares at me but he's not that upfront anymore. And sometimes I catch him smiling when looking at me. It's like some sort of truce before the fight starts again. But now I'm wondering if some sort of peace would be possible. 

_Oh no love! You're not alone_  
_No matter what or who you've been_  
_No matter when or where you've seen_  
_All the knives seem to lacerate your brain_  
_I've had my share, I'll help you with the pain_  
_You're not alone_

I change my mind. Why should I care? Isn't he my own personal monster in the story of my life? Why should I care? And yet... Yet, here he is, trapped in his own silence with deep shadows under his eyes. I want peace, for both our sakes. But I can't make myself make a move. It's not for _me_ to make the first move. I don't see why I should, not after everything he put me through. I owe him nothing. 

_Just turn on with me and you're not alone_  
_Let's turn on with me and you're not alone_  
_Let's turn on and be not alone_  
_Gimme your hands cause you're wonderful_  
_Gimme your hands cause you're wonderful_  
_Oh gimme your hands._

I listen to Bowie's voice breaking and the final notes of the song fill the car before dying away. I bit the inside of my lips. I know. I know why I have to make the first move, even if it's not fair. Why I have to act if I want peace , even if it shouldn't be me. Even if I already tried before, all for nothing. Because he won't. Even if maybe he wants to. He won't make a move, because he's too proud to admit he wants peace. Well, I don't know if he wants peace, or if he's too far gone to ever want peace with anyone. But if _I_ don't make a move I'll never know. Because one thing is sure, it's that he's at least too far gone to think he's not alone. 

I look at his hand on the gearshift. I swallow. Slowly, I extend my hand. I put it on his. I immediately tense, expecting a tornado of shouts and insults. But nothing happens. I glance at him cautiously. He's just the same, silently smoking, watching the road in front of him. But the simple fact that he doesn't react, that he doesn't even take his hand away, means so much. Maybe he actually wants peace, after all? I relax, and so does my hand on his, embracing the form of his joints and fingers. 

We stay like that until we reach home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading :)
> 
> Please let me know if I made any error or if I forgot a warning :) 
> 
> Love xxx


End file.
